


who’s to say you’ll be president before me, huh?

by rosyasteria



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Cara | CaptainPuffy is Clay | Dream's Parent, Jschlatt Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt and Toby Smith | Tubbo are Siblings, Jschlatt is Toby Smith | Tubbo's Parent, Morally Ambiguous Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Parental Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Ram Hybrid Toby Smith | Tubbo, Sheep Hybrid Cara | CaptainPuffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:55:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29471319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosyasteria/pseuds/rosyasteria
Summary: Before Jschlatt was the villain of the DreamSMP he was a father.“We can match! Me and papa, the coolest people in town! When I’m president, you’ll be my right hand man, and we will look so cool!”“Who’s to say you’ll be president before me, huh?”“Okay, when you’re president, I’ll be your right hand man, and we will look just as cool.” Tubbo smiled, all white teeth with his tongue between them. Schlatt sighed softly, running his fingers through the boy’s now dry hair.
Relationships: Cara | CaptainPuffy & Jschlatt, Cara | CaptainPuffy & Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 124
Collections: Fanfics I’d eat again at 3 am and already have





	who’s to say you’ll be president before me, huh?

“I’m not a kid person.”

“I just don’t like ‘em, alright?”

“Look, the little brats just get on my nerves.”

“I wouldn’t have one of my own, fuck no.”

All things Schlatt had told himself and others through his life. He didn’t like kids, he wasn’t good with them, he’d end up dropping one on its fat little head. But when an old flame showed up, wicker basket in hand, and shoved it into his arms, what looked like a small bundle of cloth and nothing more in it, Schlatt vowed to do his best. The thing was so damn fragile, it’s weak little neck not even strong enough to hold its strangely large head up. It wanted food all the time, it’s ass changing every few hours, cuddles in the early hours of the morning, and Schlatt had never been so out of his depth in his life. He’d never been in charge of such a frail little thing, it’s mop of brown curls and it’s chubby little legs. No matter how much he wanted to hate the damn infant, he just couldn’t. Distant memories of his own father shoving him to the ground, screaming into already damaged ears that he’d never be good enough were enough fuel to the fire in his messed up head, egging Schlatt on to be a better father than his own ever was. So he worked hard, begged his neighbour Cara to care for the little tyke, who he’d nicknamed Tubbo because his deadbeat mother had named him Toby of all things, as he worked half day shifts at his job to earn what he could. Money he used to spend on beers went towards a proper moses basket for the kid, blankets that didn’t bring his delicate skin out in rashes as he slept, the best milk he could buy, and a little plush bee that the kid never let go of.

Tubbo’s first year was a nightmare, Cara visiting most days to teach Schlatt how to bathe him, wrap him securely, snip his rapidly growing nails short with no crying, how to change him. She was a godsend, having raised her own boy Clay long ago. She didn’t birth him herself but he came to her one day and she latched onto him like any mother would. She was older than she looked, sheep and goat people much as similar as they looked, and by his second year Cara had moved out from her place next door, telling Schlatt she was to sail the oceans, see the wonders of the world, hopefully find her son someday. The boy had left home young, around his mid teens Schlatt recalled, disappearing in the night leaving only a note for his mother saying he had to make something of himself. Cara had come to Schlatt in the early morning before she’d left, pressing a thick envelope into his hands, voice as warm as always, and said:

“You’re a good father. That boy will grow up to be just as kind and strong as you, and I have faith in that.”

The envelope contained a lot of money, and by the time Schlatt had counted it all Cara had gone into the twilight, leaving him to take it all anyway. He was never one to give up gifts, although if she’d still been there he would’ve refused the sheer amount she’d given him. She’d done enough for him in all their time.

As Tubbo grew to three years old, he already had a mouth on him, babbling about anything he saw as they walked to the nearby forest clearing, asking ‘why’ to every statement Schlatt said, and while it was infuriating it was far more endearing. Over that year the money ran thin, Tubbo needing more than he did as an infant, Schlatt having to pay other people in the town to care for the boy as he worked since Cara was no longer there. But they made ends meet. On the months they couldn’t afford firewood, Schlatt just wrapped them both up warm, bundled his little boy up in extra layers, the warm bee-striped pullover Cara had knitted for him way back, boasting how he’d fit into it eventually as he got older. He saved money up through the months, the extra emeralds he dug up from between sofa cushions and the backs of counters, spare gold nuggets he found on the floor as he walked home from work. He made it work. He’d never been well off, but there was no way in hell he’d let his kid down. During Tubbo’s third summer their water pump broke, and Schlatt didn’t have the spare emeralds to pay the town leader for its repair, god no, so he took Tubbo to the nearby stream and passed him a cup, relishing in the small water fight they had that cooled the both of them down. The sight of his boy with his drenched bee plush and the brown curls sticking to his forehead did something to Schlatt. He’d done damn good in the past three years. He’d put so much work into raising this little boy,  _ his _ boy.

By Tubbo’s fourth year his horns were growing in. Little brown things, two little nubs poking from each side of the boy’s forehead, invisible to anyone who didn’t look, but clear as day to Schlatt who smoothed his hair back after a bath and prodded the little things, eliciting a little giggle from his son.

“You’re growing big now, kid.”

“Papa, will they be big like yours?” He asked, little fingers reaching out to grab at Schlatt’s own horns, tracing them as they curled.

“I dunno, maybe, someday, when you’re all grown up.” Schlatt smiled, towelling the rest of his son’s curls dry.

“We can match! Me and papa, the coolest people in town! When I’m president, you’ll be my right hand man, and we will look so cool!”

“Who’s to say you’ll be president before me, huh?”

“Okay, when you’re president, I’ll be  your  right hand man, and we will look just as cool.” Tubbo smiled, all white teeth with his tongue between them. Schlatt sighed softly, running his fingers through the boy’s now dry hair.

“That’s more like it.”

Tubbo’s fourth year was when the money ran dry. Spare money was no longer enough, they were barely passing tax, and Schlatt had quit his job to care for Tubbo full time, the local powers offering just enough benefits for the two to scrape by. Each month, Schlatt counted the extra emeralds he had from paying tax and other things, and stowed them away in a little jar on top of the storage barrels. Each month he’d take the jar down and get Tubbo to count the gems with him, every month the kid asking what it was for, and every month Schlatt shrugging his heavy shoulders.

One summer day, Schlatt took the jar down for the last time. He emptied the collected emeralds into his palms, counted them one last time, and put them in his pockets. He dressed Tubbo in the best clothes he owned; a pair of blue cotton pants that barely fit him anymore and the yellow-black striped pullover Cara had knitted all that time ago. Schlatt missed her. Her guidance, her reassurance. It wasn’t a romantic thing, never had been, she’d just always been there for him. She’d gotten him off the drink when he’d first moved next door to her, and had continued to support him through everything. If she knew what he was about to do she’d despise him. Schlatt didn’t want to do this, his psyche was screaming at him not to, but he had no choice. He took Tubbo out, walked him to the nearby store, told him he could have anything he wanted, anything at all, as long as it wasn’t too expensive. The kid got a leather-bound book on beekeeping and some dried fruit snacks. Schlatt went and grabbed a cardboard box and some parchment.

“What’s that for papa?”

“It’s nothing, kid. Come on, let’s get you your things.”

And as they left the store to go home, they went the wrong direction. Schlatt walked with Tubbo for a long while, what felt like forever for the little boy who’s feet had started to ache, his new book heavy in his arms. Eventually they stopped on a dirt road. The sun was about to set, casting warm oranges and pinks across the dirt and his son’s face. Schlatt cleared his throat as he set the box down on the grass, picking Tubbo up by his underarms and setting the kid down inside. He looked confused, but didn’t say a thing, even as Schlatt pulled the folded parchment from his pocket and scribbled something down on it, and pressed it into his small hands. He just adjusted his book and the plush bee under his arms as he grabbed it.

“What are you doing?” He finally asked.

“Nothing, kid. I just need you to do something for me.” Schlatt said, crouching so he saw eye to eye with his boy, his son. Tubbo nodded eagerly, always willing to show how good he was, how well behaved. Schlatt stood for a second, looking over the horizon, down the road, before crouching again.

“I need you to sit here, and stay here, for as long as you can. Don’t move from this spot. I’m gonna go somewhere, and you’re gonna sit in this box and stay, okay?” He explained, lifting his hands from his sides to run gentle fingers down Tubbo’s face, his chubby cheeks, committing them to memory.

“Will you come back?” Tubbo asked, squeezing the plush bee he held as he spoke, eyes wet. Schlatt blinked back the same tears his son had spilling down his own cheeks as he pushed back the boy’s curly hair, thumbing over the small horns still growing on his forehead. 

“You know papa loves you, you know I do, right?” He didn’t say a thing more once he saw his son nod. He rest his hands on Tubbo’s shoulders and pushed gently until the boy got the idea, sitting cross legged in the box, holding the paper Schlatt had given him. Schlatt then got to his feet, and started walking. He didn’t look back, knowing if he did that he’d abandon the plan he’d been fighting himself over for months. In the end this was the best thing for Tubbo. Someone would come across him, that path was the only clear route to town, they’d take him in, care for him better than Schlatt ever could, give him a better life. He was a bad father for leaving him behind, but a good one for refusing to slow him down as he grew, right? It was better for him to let the kid grow without the barriers of poverty, and Schlatt couldn’t give him any more than he already had. His mind went back to Cara. She’d kill him for this. The second she found out Schlatt abandoned his kid, the kid she helped him raise, she’d murder him in cold blood. The funny thing was that Schlatt didn’t think he’d stop her. He wasn’t as good as she told him he was; and that’s why he walked away. He let himself cry that night, knowing in his cold, dead heart that he didn’t deserve to, knowing he left his baby on the side of that road. He sobbed himself to sleep that night onwards, clutching the swaddling blanket Tubbo had come to him wrapped in all those years ago.

_ “Toby, I’m scared of death.” Schlatt blurted, legs numb as he stood surrounded in the camar van, his once right hand man staring him down. The man in question didn’t say a thing, but his eyes widened at the use of his name, his real name. Alex shouting for Schlatt’s attention broke the moment, giving him time to regain his façade. _

_ As he fell, convulsing, to the floor not long after those words, Tubbo didn’t see the man who took advantage of him, the man who exiled Wilbur and Tommy. He saw someone he didn’t entirely remember, a man with a bright smile, pulling him along shop aisles with jingling pockets and horns just like his own. _

_ “Who’s to say you’ll be president before me, huh?” He heard the man say, the grin evident in his voice. Tubbo both loved and loathed the memory. He busied himself with laughing it off like the rest of the people around him, following their queues as they filed out to celebrate the winning of the war. _

_ He did come back, eventually. _

**Author's Note:**

> hi ! im link, im an 18 year old nonbinary college student from england and writing is one of my favourite hobbies so i love posting to make other people happy!
> 
> my twitter is @ORPHANBLADE if you want to give me a follow!


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